


Know the Rules (so you can break them effectively)

by ZaliaChimera



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, M/M, Rage, Spoilers, Spoilers for episode 174
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27010237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZaliaChimera/pseuds/ZaliaChimera
Summary: There are certain things that everyone knows. The meritcorats are in charge, the gods are real, and resurrection is wrong.Well, the first one is false. How many other rules can be broken?[Spoilers for Episode 174]
Relationships: Zolf Smith & Oscar Wilde, Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 18
Kudos: 62





	Know the Rules (so you can break them effectively)

Resurrection is wrong.

Everyone knows that. They teach you that in seminary. Godsdamn, they teach you that in _school_ , sitting cross-legged on the floor of the local village hall listening to the priestess of Athena talk ‘cause your little mining village wasn’t big enough for its own school. The people of Rome were corrupt and they were destroyed. And the benevolent Meritocrats outlawed resurrection to prevent rich men hoarding immortality like they hoarded gold. 

Zolf looks down at Wilde’s still grey face in the flickering light of the camp fire. He doesn’t look peaceful, not like he should in death, he just looks shocked and scared and hurt.

Resurrection is _wrong_.

Gods, he’d believed that. Remembers seeing Sasha split open and emptied out, and the way she’d been cold and pale after that.

Remembers Shoin too, an evil man, a rich man, finding new ways to pervert the death that should come to them all.

 _Resurrection is wrong_.

There are reasons for it. Good reasons. It equalised things! Death comes to everyone and resurrection is wrong.

There’s another log thrown on that fire, and it flares with light and harsh shadows. Cel’s over there, talking to the Ursine folk, the ones who’re helping them, in quick, hushed tones. He looks back at Wilde, at Carter, the kobolds, the ones who were trying to help save the bloody world!

Resurrection is wrong. The law that was the great equaliser!

Well, it hadn’t fucking worked, had it? Not when the rich could create simulacra and throw parties, while Other London was left to the mercies of men like Barrett. 

Hadn’t helped when they stayed in the most expensive hotel room in the world while Eiffel’s Folly was left to house those with no homes. And that’d been the place destroyed with dragon fire because one rich man took advantage of people’s misery and Zolf’s mistakes.

Hadn’t helped when the mine collapsed. When Feryn had died. 

Because that was the thing wasn’t it? You could ban resurrection, but the rich could still afford the best food, the best education. Could afford to rest. Never had to wonder where the next meal was coming from or if their throat would get slit in a back street.

Resurrection is wrong.

But when had the rules helped him recently?

They’re coming back over, the strange band of folks they’d found out here in what should’ve been unpopulated wasteland.

Another lie. How many of them are there?

“They’re going to help us,” Cel says, uncharacteristically solemn and blunt. “They just want permission. Hamid said it’s taboo, what they’re going to do.”

“One of the biggest,” Zolf replies, and waits for something inside him to recoil from the idea of it, for some gnawing sense of wrongness to assault him.

“If you don’t want to, they won’t. They want cooperation, good will,” Cel says, frowning in that way that suggests it isn’t quite the right phrasing, but they couldn’t figure out the right words to use.

Zolf looks back at Wilde, the bloodstained clothes, and broken form. At Carter who, annoying as could be, was smart and brave and surprisingly loyal. At the kobolds who’d only been there because of them.

“Do it,” Zolf says.

“Zolf,” Cel replies, and he the relief in their voice makes his fingers tighten into fists. 

There’s something burning in his chest, but it isn’t horror or wrongness, just a low undying flame that he’s come to recognise. He’s pledged himself to it after all. 

“Do it,” he repeats and then looks up and meets Cel’s gaze. “Way I see it, Wilde’s done more to save the world recently than the meritocrats. So’s Carter, and the kobolds. All of us have. So fuck their rules.”

Cel doesn’t smile, but their expression sharpens, turns determined. “Yeah. Never much a fan of rules anyway.”

That flame grows and that’s the thing he’s learned. Hope isn’t something bright and white and pure. It’s a low burning flame clinging stubbornly to the last log in the darkest part of the night. 

He reaches out, takes Wilde’s hand, cold fingers against his own. 

Resurrection is wrong.

And Zolf is through giving a fuck about their rules.


End file.
